Greatest Journey
by Gyaku no Sekai
Summary: "Home is behind, the world ahead, / And there are many paths to tread / Through shadows to the edge of night, / Until the stars are all alight." - The Lord of the Rings, J R R Tolkien. Sequel to "What Once Was Lost" and "The Long Run".
1. Second Prelude

A/N: Surprise, it's me. A long time, I know. A lot happened, but I won't bore you all with the details, because you came for the story. Onward!

* * *

One: Second Prelude

* * *

Frodo was sitting beneath a brilliantly green tree in the Eastfarthing of the Shire, reading a book, when he heard someone singing. He looked up, and then jumped to his feet, smiling when he recognized the voice and racing toward the road.

Gandalf only loosely held the reins of his wagon as it trundled through the fields while he sang. "Down from the door where it began… And I must follow if I can… The road goes ever on and on, Down from the door where it began, Now far ahead the road has gone, And I must follow if I can…" He stopped as the hobbit ran up to the roadside.

Frodo crossed his arms and said, "You're late."

"A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins," he said resolutely, "Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to." He gave Frodo with a stern look, then softened with laughter.

Frodo jumped into the Maia's arms with a cry of "It's wonderful to see you, Gandalf!"

"You didn't think I'd miss your Uncle Bilbo's birthday?"

The hobbit swung down to sit next to him on the seat, sighing happily. The wizard pulled his pipe from his robes and began smoking, snapping the reins to spur the horse into motion. "So, how is the old rascal? I hear it's going to be a party of special magnificence."

"You know Bilbo," Frodo chuckled, "He's got the whole place in an uproar."

"Well, that should please him."

"Half the Shire's been invited. And the rest of them are turning up anyway."

Both of them laughed at that, the wagon rolling past Hobbits hard at work in the fields, then over a small stone bridge over a stream and into the Hobbiton town square, making their way towards Bag End. At last, Frodo continued, "To tell you the truth, Bilbo's been a bit odd lately. I mean, more than usual." When he noticed that the wizard was listening intently, he went on, "He's taken to locking himself in his study. He spends hours and hours poring over old maps when he thinks I'm not looking. He's up to something."

Gandalf hummed and gave Frodo a sideways glance. The hobbit glanced back at him, waiting for him to answer, but the wizard just looked away, acting uncomprehending.

"All right, then. Keep your secrets."

"What?"

"I know you have something to do with it."

"Good gracious me," said the wizard.

"Before you came along, we Bagginses were very well thought of," the hobbit said with mock sternness, "Never had any adventures or did anything unexpected."

"If you're referring to the incident with the dragon, I was barely involved," said the wizard, "All I did was give your uncle a little nudge out of the door."

"We all know that's a load of shit, Gandalf."

Frodo whipped around at the unexpected voice from the back of the wagon. A tall elfin figure was lying in the back atop the covered contents, dark hair spread over the tarp. "You threw a dwarf dance party at his house without his permission," he continued without opening his eyes.

"Uncle Gostir!" the hobbit said delightedly, grinning widely at the sight of him, "You're back!"

"So I am," he hummed.

They rattled past a hobbit hole with a grumpy hobbit working in the garden. The hobbit's grumpiness did nothing to dissuade the hobbit children that ran after the wagon, cheering. They whined in disappointment as he drove along, pretending not to notice them. But then a blast of fireworks went off from the rear of the wagon, barely stirring the elf. The hobbit children clapped their hands and cheered, making the wizard chuckle.

"Gandalf?" Frodo began, "I'm glad you're back."

"So am I, dear boy! So am I."

Frodo jumped from the carriage and bade farewell to the wizard and elf, who continued on to Bag End. Gandalf stopped in front of the gate, where a sign declared, 'No Admittance Except on Party Business.' He swung down and walked up to the door, knocking on it with his staff while the elf hopped down from the back.

From inside, a wavering voice shouted, "No thank you! We don't want any more visitors, well-wishers, or distant relations!"

"And what about very old friends?" the wizard called.

There was shuffling from within, and then Bilbo – stooped and withered and using a cane but still strong enough – pulled open the door. "Gandalf?"

"Bilbo Baggins!" the wizard said cheerfully, and knelt to embrace him.

"My dear Gandalf!" he replied, and stepped into his arms.

"Good to see you. One hundred and eleven years old! Who would believe it?" He pulled back and examined the lines of age heavy on the hobbit's face, smiling sadly.

Bilbo returned the smile with equal sadness. When he spotted Gostir, his smile both brightened and faded all at once: happy to see him, but knowing why he left – and what he'd brought back with him. The elderly hobbit ushered them all inside and closed the door behind them. It was only then that the dark-haired elf knelt before him, amber eyes nearly glowing in the dim light of the entryway.

They stared into one another's eyes for several long minutes. Then at last they embraced tightly, Bilbo shivering in the dragon's arms. He could feel the touch of the Ring, concealed somewhere on his person, but Gostir – Smaug – was stronger than it, for the moment at least. He would hold it, until it was time. Even so, the dragon said, "It is only for a month."

"I know."

"I will be with you the entire time." Then, with possessiveness characteristic of dragons when speaking of their hoards, "I will not let it take you from me."

"I know," Bilbo said again, but still he shuddered and shied away as soon as he could.

Gostir straightened, and hung up his cloak and Gandalf's hat, moving with surprising ease despite having to stoop to fit his tall frame in the smial.

"Tea?" Bilbo called back to them, already shuffling towards the kitchen, "Or maybe something a little stronger? I've got a few bottles of the Old Winyard left; 1296, very good year. Almost as old as I am! Hahaha! It was laid down by my father. What say we open one, eh?"

"Just tea, thank you," Gandalf called after him.

"I do not think it wise for me to become intoxicated so soon after my return," the dragon hummed from somewhere else inside the smial, doubtless his little hoard-room in the far back of the hill, where he hid the treasures he couldn't bear to part with. "I will have tea, also. I miss Earl Grey, though."

"So do I, Gostir," Bilbo responded, bustling around the kitchen as much as he could at his age, "And I was expecting you two sometime last week. Not that it matters. You both come and go as you please, always have and always will. You caught me a bit unprepared, I'm afraid. We've got cold chicken and a bit of pickle… there's some cheese here. - Oh, no it won't do. We've got raspberry jam, an apple tart… But not much for afters – Oh, no, we're all right. I've just found some sponge cake. I could make you some eggs if you'd like- Oh. Gandalf? Gostir?" He limped back into the study to look for the wizard and dragon.

Gandalf peered into the study from the kitchen behind Bilbo. "Just tea, thank you," he repeated.

"Oh, right," the hobbit said, nodding, "You don't mind if I eat, do you? I only have the appetite for small snacks now, so I try to eat as often as I can."

"No, not at all," the wizard answered.

"Even if you're not hungry, you should force yourself to eat." Gostir intentionally made noise when he rejoined them in the kitchen after ascertaining that none of his treasure had been tampered with. Bilbo's heart wasn't what it used to be. "You have a long journey ahead of you," he continued.

"I know that!" the hobbit protested, tapping the dragon on the chest with his cane, "But I'm old, Gostir. My body isn't what it used to be."

"Is that Lobelia?"

There was sharp rapping on the door of the smial, and a woman's shrill voice reached their ears. "Bilbo! Bilbo Baggins!" she demanded, even as the hobbit in question scrambled to hide himself behind the dragon, "I know you're in there!"

"I'm not at home!" he gasped, "It's the Sackville-Bagginses. They're after the house. They've never forgiven me for living this long, even in the state I'm in now. I've got to get away from these confounded relatives hanging on the bell all day. They never give me a moment's peace! I want to see mountains again. Mountains, Gandalf! And then go back to Rivendell so I can finish my book. Oh, tea!" Bilbo hobbled over to the hearth with a potholder and lifted the water off the fire, turning to carry it to the table before Gostir took it from his hands.

"You mean to go through with your plan, then," said Gandalf, lifting the lid of the teapot so Gostir could pour the water inside.

"Yes, yes. It's all in hand. All the arrangements are made. The others should be right behind you."

"Frodo suspects something."

"Of course he does; he's a Baggins!" the elderly hobbit hmphed, "Not some block-headed Bracegirdle from Hardbottle. "

"You will tell him, won't you?" the wizard asked, "He's very fond of you."

"I know. He'd probably come with me if I asked him. Maybe even if I didn't, the way he mothers me. But I think in his heart, Frodo's still in love with the Shire. The woods, the fields. Little rivers. I am old, Gandalf. This time I look it, and I can feel it in my heart." His eyes strayed to the dragon before he realized what he was doing. When he noticed, he quickly looked away, accepting the cup of tea from Gostir. "I need a holiday. A very long holiday. And I don't expect I shall return. In fact, I mean not to."

* * *

Eventually, the three of them retired to sit outside Bag End in the light of the setting sun, wizard and hobbit with pipes in their mouths. The smial looked out over the field where the party was to be held, tents being raised and lanterns lit as the daylight faded.

"Old Toby. The finest weed in the Southfarthing," Bilbo hummed, "I never understood why people smoked in the Old World until I started doing it here."

"Nicotine addiction."

"I know that, too, Gostir," the hobbit chuckled, "but it's one thing to know it with your mind. It's another thing entirely to experience it for yourself. Have you tried…?"

"A few times. It doesn't affect me."

"That's a shame. I'm sure this is better than anything we had then." He blew a ring of smoke.

Gandalf smiled and exhaled a ship of smoke, sending it sailing through the smoke ring that Bilbo made.

"Gandalf, Gostir, my old friends, this will be a night to remember."


	2. Advent

Two: Advent

* * *

Practically everyone living near Bag End was invited to the party, and many hobbits from other parts of the Shire were, too. Presents were given away (for hobbits give gifts to others on their birthdays), food was eaten, drinks were drunk, and dances were performed. Bilbo and even Gostir told stories of the former's adventures in the east, helping to reclaim a mountain for its king, who was even older than Bilbo if not nearly so aged. Gandalf had brought some of his most magnificent fireworks for Bilbo's party, much to the delight of all the hobbits, even those who'd shaken their heads at him not so long ago. Just after sunset, the wizard began a spectacular show – flowering fields, tall forests, and twittering birds, red thunderstorms and yellow rain, and last but not least, an image of Erebor wrought in dark smoke, and a Smaug of red sparks that swooped over the party before flying over the nearby Bywater River and bursting into a shower of golden flakes very like coin, signaling suppertime. (The Smaug firework was actually set off by Merry and Pippen, who were given dishwashing detail as punishment for their prank.)

The one hundred and forty-four people invited to sit at the high table with the Bagginses themselves and Bilbo's partner, the strange and elfin being known only as "Gostir," ate a fine meal indeed, fine enough that they were willing to indulge any speech Bilbo was prepared to give. At last he rose and called, "My dear people!" to much cheering. When they settled down enough for him to speak again, he continued, "My dear Bagginses and Boffins, and Tooks and Brandybucks, and Grubbs and Chubbs, and Burrowses, Hornblowers, Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Goodbodies, Brockhouses, and Proudfoots-"

"Proud _feet_!" one of them called.

" _Proudfoots_ ," Bilbo repeated, "And also my good Sackville-Bagginses that I welcome back at last to Bag End. Today is my one hundred and eleventh birthday – I am eleventy-one today!" The hobbit couldn't help but grin when he saw Gostir flinch and mutter under his breath, as he did every time someone said it like that in his hearing. "I hope you are all enjoying yourselves as much as I am!"

There were cries of "yes" (and "no"), and a flurry of notes from musical instruments gained from crackers pulled by the younger hobbits. Bilbo indulged them for a minute or two, and Gostir used the cover provided to quietly slip the Ring into the elderly hobbit's pocket. When the distraction turned into an impromptu dance party, the elderly hobbit grabbed a horn very like a vuvuzela from a young hobbit nearby and blew a few short blasts on it to regain their attention.

"I shall not keep you long," he promised the assembly, using his best officer's voice, "I have called you together for a Purpose." Something about the way he said it conveyed the capitalization and commanded attention, though it had been a long time indeed since he had actively ordered any soldiers. "Indeed, for three purposes! First, to tell you that I am immensely fond of you all, and that eleventy-one years are too few to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits. I don't know half of you nearly as well as I would like.

"Secondly, to celebrate my birthday – I should say, _our_ birthday. For it is, of course, also the birthday of my nephew and heir, Frodo! He comes of age and into his inheritance today.

"It is also, if I may be allowed to refer to ancient history, the anniversary of my arrival by barrel at Esgaroth on the Long Lake, though the fact that it was my birthday slipped my mind. I was only fifty-one then, and it did not seem nearly so important as _this_ birthday, so thank you very much for coming to this party.

"Thirdly and finally, I wish to make an announcement. As some of you may have noticed, I said that Frodo is coming into his inheritance. This is because I am leaving the Shire, for the last time. As I said, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to spend among you, but the time is ripe for one last Great Adventure! I bid you all a very fond farewell!"

He stepped down and slipped on the Ring, seeming to vanish from sight. As expected, Gandalf created a flash of light, and right before it burst, Gostir closed and covered his eyes. While the other hobbits were still blinking to clear their eyes, he rose from his chair and vanished into the darkness around the party field, following his hobbit to Bag End.

Though he still could not see him, he could hear him whimpering, "It won't come off, it won't come off!" He managed to catch the other man and hold him still for a long minute, then felt down along his arm to his hand, then to the finger he sought and eased the Ring off. Bilbo sighed in relief as he became visible again and sagged into his embrace.

Both took a moment to breathe, then resumed moving. Bilbo put away his party clothes and donned the mithril mail, then his traveling gear, old and well-worn, buckling Sting onto his waist. Gostir gathered the last of what the hobbit intended to take with him: the manuscript for the Red Book of Westmarch (better known as _The Hobbit_ in their Old World), a few sets of clothes, and medicines made for the hobbit by the elves.

Bilbo put the finishing touches on his letter to Frodo, put the Ring inside, addressed it, and put it on the mantelpiece. Yet as he turned to go, seemingly without his knowledge, his hand picked up the letter and made to put it in his pocket.

Gostir was watching for just such an eventuality, and caught his wrist before he could tuck it away. Bilbo noticed then, and flinched again as he always did when he became aware of its hold on him. The letter with its Ring slipped from his grasp and hit the ground without bouncing, with a thud that had the weight of the world behind it.

The hobbit turned away from it, and buried his face in the dragon's blazing hot chest.

They were still in that position several minutes later, when Gandalf entered Bag End. He saw the lay of the room, them together and the Ring on the floor, and guessed (correctly) what had happened. "Come, Bilbo," he said gently, "It's time."

There would be no flying for this journey, no matter how glorious it was to see Middle-earth from the sky. Instead, some of the dwarves of Erebor had come with a cart lined thick with straw and bedding, to take him along the route he had walked and ridden and swum to the Lonely Mountain one last time, to bid all of his friends farewell. Then it would be back to Rivendell, to wait. To watch and to wait, and to finish the Red Book with the whole truth inside it. _This_ Bilbo Baggins was no creature of the Ring, trying to legitimize his claim to it.

Gostir picked up the box and put it on the mantle, and then laid a hand on the hobbit's back and led him out to where the cart was waiting.

Tauriel's sons were at its foot, ready to help Bilbo up. They were handsome and yet seemed odd to look at, for they had their fathers' height and coloring, but their mother's slender elvish build and strength, with the faintest touch of red fire in their hair when the light hit them right.

The dragon climbed into the cart first, and then with him in front and the boys in back, they got the old hobbit up and settled on the bedding. One of them climbed into the back with them, while the other went up front to sit with the driver. He snapped the reigns, and as they rolled away into the night, Bilbo leaned his head against his faintly smiling lover's shoulder and hummed,

" _The Road goes ever on and on,  
Down from the door where it began.  
Now far ahead the Road has gone,  
And I must follow, if I can,  
Pursuing it with eager feet,  
Until it joins some larger way,  
Where many paths and errands meet.  
And whither then? I cannot say."_

* * *

Frodo returned to Bag End not long after, and found the letter still on the floor and the wizard sitting inside and murmuring to himself too low to hear. He stooped to pick up the envelope before approaching the wizard. "He has gone, then?" the hobbit said.

That seemed to stir Gandalf from his thoughts and muttering. "Yes, he has."

Frodo sighed. "I wish – I mean, I had hoped that he was only joking, but I think I knew in my heart that he meant to go. I wish I had come back sooner, to see him off, at least."

"I think he preferred it this way," the wizard said to him, "but don't trouble yourself too much. Sma- that is, your Uncle Gostir has gone with him, and wherever he travels he will be among friends."

He did not mention the small detachment of Elves and dwarves waiting on the edge of the Shire for him, or the even larger one that was poised to remain and secretly guard the borders from certain potential Unwelcome Intruders. The Council of the Ring, as Smaug had taken to calling them all, was leaving nothing to chance. Neither could the wizard.

"Where are you going?" Frodo asked when Gandalf nearly leaped to his feet and went for his hat and staff.

"There are things that I must see to, more than just making sure Bilbo's road to Rivendell is clear," he answered.

"Things? What things?"

"Questions, questions that need answers from only a handful of people that can give them, and certain individuals that must be detained," the wizard said. He pressed his hat to his head. "The Ring your uncle has left you – be _very_ careful with it, Frodo. It is one of the Rings of Power from ages past, and there are many who would seek to take it from you, if they knew you had it. Keep it secret, keep it safe. Speak of it to no one until I return."

"I will," the hobbit vowed, "But, but Gandalf, I don't understand-"

"Neither do I," the wizard answered honestly, "but that Ring is safer nowhere than here with you. Guard it well."


	3. Follow in Flight

A/N: I have no excuses.

* * *

Years passed in silence, with no word from the wizard. But letters did come from Bilbo, telling him of his return to the Lonely Mountain in the east, his meetings with Thorin and the remainder of the Company, Tauriel and Thranduil, his visit to Bard's honored grave in the vaults of Dale. The letters grew sparser but longer as time went on, eventually switching over to Gostir's precise hand when Bilbo's grew too shaky to read clearly. Frodo sent letters of his own back, telling him of all the goings-on in the Shire, and how people were still talking about his spectacular disappearance even so many years down the line, but he had no way of knowing if they reached him.

But meanwhile in the Shire…

"Hey, ho, to the bottle I go to heal my heart and drown my woe!"

Frodo couldn't help skipping to the tune of Merry and Pippin's drinking song, even with mugs of ale in his hands. The two hobbits were standing atop one of the tables in the Green Dragon, singing with nearly all the other occupants gathered around them, some singing with them. "Rain may fall and wind may blow but there still be… many miles to go. Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain and the stream that falls from hill to plain. Better than rain or a rippling brook-"

"-Is a mug of beer inside this Took!" Pippin cried, and accepted a mug from Frodo, lifting it high before taking a long swallow. All the gathered hobbits laughed and raised their own mugs.

Without the singing covering their voices now, Frodo couldn't help but overhear Sam's Gaffer talking with some of the other locals. "There's been some strange folk crossing the Shire," one was saying, "Dwarves and others of a less than savory nature."

"War is brewing," Gaffer agreed, "The mountains are fair teeming with goblins." Bilbo had said as much in his last letter, said crossing the Misty Mountains was nearly as difficult as it had been in his younger days.

"Far-off tales and children's stories, that's all that is," another huffed, "You're beginning to sound like that old Bilbo Baggins. Cracked he was. "

Gaffer only laughed and says, "Young Mr. Frodo here, he's cracking."

A spark of anger flared in his gut, and he walked over to the table with four more mugs. "And proud of it," he said grandly as he passed them around, "Cheers, Gaffer."

"Cheers."

"Aye," said the second hobbit, "Well it's none of our concern what goes on beyond our borders. Keep your nose out of trouble and no trouble'll come to you."

Frodo smiled and drank, but as he did so, he couldn't help but remember that once upon a time, Bilbo had kept out of trouble, yet trouble had found him anyway. And Gandalf, what had become of him, too?

Last call came, as it always did. The bar maid, Rosie, whom Sam was sweet on, bade them good night from the door of the tavern.

"Good night, sweet maiden of the Golden Ale," one hobbit cried in return.

"Boy, mind who you're sweet-talkin'," Sam mumbled as they walked away from the Green Dragon, careful not to let his voice carry back to the door.

"Don't worry, Sam," Frodo assured him with a soft chuckle, "Rosie knows an idiot when she sees one."

His intended reassurance had the opposite effect. Sam stopped dead and whimpered plaintively, "Does she?"

Frodo just shook his head, and pulled the other hobbit along with him, back toward Bagshot Row. He bade the other hobbit farewell at the door to Bag End, since Sam had a little further to go, to 2 Bagshot Row. The younger returned his farewell as he stepped inside.

Frodo closed the door behind him and stopped short. One of the windows in Bilbo's study was open (he still thought of it as Bilbo's, even though Bilbo hadn't lived in Bag End in nearly two decades). Gandalf's words echoed in his ears, about the Ring and how people would gladly steal it. Frodo looked around frantically, searching for a weapon, right before a hand landed on his shoulder. Frodo gasped as he was spun around, then sagged in relief when he saw that the intruder was the wizard himself, looking older and more haggard than their last meeting.

"Is it secret?!" the wizard whispered frantically, "Is it safe?!"

Frodo went straight to the trunk that contained the few treasures Gostir had left behind. He pushed it aside with the wizard's help, and lifted a loose floorboard. Under it was a small rectangular box. The hobbit picked it up, opened it, and handed the envelope with the Ring to the wizard. Gandalf nearly snatched it out of his hands and tossed it into the fireplace, still burning merrily.

"What are you doing?!" the hobbit cried, peering into the flames.

The envelope burned away, revealing the untouched Ring within. Gandalf took a pair of tongs from the hearth and plucked it from the ashes at the bottom of the fire. "Hold out your hand, Frodo," said the wizard, offering it to the hobbit, "It's quite cool."

Frodo held out his hand. The wizard dropped it into his hand, and he started a little at the heat – or rather lack thereof, staring at the gold band.

Gandalf strode away to gaze into the kitchen. "What can you see? Can you see anything?"

"Nothing. There's nothing. - Wait. There are markings. It's some form of Elvish. I can't read it."

The wizard sighed mournfully. "There are few who can. The language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here. In the common tongue, it says: 'One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness, bind them.'"

They moved into the kitchen, and Frodo dropped the Ring onto the kitchen table. Again, it landed without bouncing, with a thud that echoed. Hobbit and wizard sat across from each other with it in between them. "This is the One Ring," said Gandalf, "forged by the Dark Lord Sauron in the fires of Mount Doom, taken by Isildur from the hand of Sauron himself."

"Bilbo found it- in Gollum's cave," Frodo realized.

"Yes. For sixty years, the Ring lay quiet, hidden from everyone who would have taken it. But no longer, Frodo. Evil is stirring in Mordor. The Ring has awoken. It's heard its master's call."

"But he was destroyed!" Frodo protested, "Sauron was destroyed!"

Both of them fell silent. The weight of the Ring's presence seemed to increase when the fallen Maia's name was spoken.

Gandalf eyed the Ring nervously and said, "No, Frodo. The Spirit of Sauron endured. His life force is bound to the Ring, and the Ring survived. Sauron has returned. His Orcs have multiplied. His fortress of Barad-dur is rebuilt in the land of Mordor. Sauron needs only this Ring to cover all the lands in a second darkness. He is seeking it- seeking it. All his thought is bent on it. The Rings yearns above all else to return to the hand of its master. They are one- the Ring and the Dark Lord. Frodo, he must never find it."

Frodo snatched it up and strode into the hallway outside the kitchen. "All right. We put it away. We keep it hidden. We never speak of it again. No one knows it's here, do they?" When the wizard remained silent, he stopped and turned. "Do they, Gandalf?"

"There are others who knew that Bilbo had the Ring, but only one who needed to be feared," he admitted, "I looked everywhere for the creature Gollum, but the enemy found him first. I don't know how long they tortured him. But amidst the endless screams and inane babble, they discerned two words."

"Shire? Baggins?" Frodo gasped, "But that would lead them here! - Take it, Gandalf! Take it!"

"No, Frodo."

"You must take it!" the hobbit protested.

"You cannot offer me this Ring!"

"I'm _giving_ it to you!"

" _Don't_ tempt me, Frodo!" the wizard shouted, then drew a slow breath to calm himself before continuing, "I dare not take it. Not even to keep it safe. Understand, Frodo, I would use this Ring from a desire to do good, but through me, it would wield a power to great and terrible to imagine."

"But when they come seeking it- it cannot stay in the Shire!" the hobbit protested.

"No," said the wizard sadly, "No, it can't."

And Frodo understood. He squeezed the Ring tight in his fist. "What must I do?"

(Frodo throws open chest doors and begins grabbing clothes and stuffing them into a sack)

"You must leave. And leave quickly," said the wizard as they both began frantically packing and searching out supplies.

"To where? Where do I go?"

"Get out of the Shire. Make for the village of Bree."

"Bree," Frodo repeated, nodding as he scurried down one of Bag End's many halls, "And what about you?"

"I'll be waiting for you at the inn of the Prancing Pony."

"And the Ring will be safe there? Or wherever we take it from there?"

"I don't know, Frodo," Gandalf said sadly, packing a satchel of food and handing it to the hobbit, "I don't have all the answers I would like, and those I do have I don't like at all. I must see the head of my order; he is both wise and powerful. Trust me, Frodo. But you're going to have to leave the name of Baggins behind you, for that name is not safe outside the Shire. Travel only by day."

Frodo took up his walking stick from next to the door and said, "I can cut across country easily enough."

Gandalf smiled sadly and said, "My dear Frodo. Hobbits really are amazing creatures. You can learn all there is to know about their ways in a month. And yet, after a hundred years, they can still surprise you."

Both of them stiffened when they heard a soft noise outside the open window. Gandalf signaled for Frodo to get down, and the hobbit dropped to the floor as the wizard took up his staff, walking warily to the window. The bushes beyond moved, and he jabbed it quickly with his staff. There was a squeal of pain, and Gandalf plunged his hand into the bushes, only to yank a body out of the bushes and into the house to be dropped onto the table.

"Confound it all, Samwise Gamgee!" he nearly roared at the sight of the quivering hobbit, "Have you been eavesdropping?"

"I haven't been droppin' no eaves, sir, honest!" the hobbit stuttered, protesting, "I was just cutting the grass under the window there, if you follow me."

Gandalf scowled. "A little late to be trimming the verge, don't you think?"

"I heard raised voices!" he squeaked.

"Well, what did you hear? Speak!"

"N-n-nothin' important! That is, I heard a good deal about a Ring, a Dark Lord and something about the end of the world, but please Mr. Gandalf, sir, don't hurt me! Don't turn me into anything unnatural."

"No?" Gandalf raised an eyebrow, then turned his head to smirk at Frodo. "Perhaps not. I've thought of a better use for you."

* * *

Sam was decidedly unhappy about being roped into joining the journey, but even he admitted he had no one to blame but himself for the trouble. He dutifully packed his things and followed along behind Gandalf and Frodo, the former leading a horse as they started through the fields and the forests around Hobbiton in the watery early morning light.

"Come along, Samwise. Keep up," the wizard called back to him, and when he reached them, the Istari said, "Be careful, both of you. The enemy has many spies in his service: birds, beasts." He looked to Frodo. "Is it safe?"

Frodo put his hand over his chest pocket for just a moment, then let it fall.

"Never put it on if ever you can avoid it," the wizard warned, "for the agents of the Dark Lord will be drawn to its power. Always remember, Frodo, the Ring is trying to get back to its master. It wants to be found." Gandalf patted the hobbit on his shoulder before mounting his horse and racing off toward Orthanc, mentally preparing himself for what he was to find and face there. Bilbo's warning was only words – nothing compared to living it.

Frodo and Sam looked around warily before walking on. They passed the cottages, waterfalls, and meadows of the Shire until they reach a cornfield where Sam abruptly stopped. "This is it," he said.

Frodo looked back at him. "This is what?"

"If I take one more step, it'll be the farthest away from home I've ever been," said Sam, and he swallowed thickly.

Frodo smiled warmly. "C'mon, Sam." When the other hobbit hesitantly stepped forward to stand next to him, Frodo puts his arm around him and led him on. "Remember what Bilbo used to say? 'It's a dangerous business, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.'"

* * *

They stopped for the night, still in the Shire but far from Bag End and closer to hobbits they knew only in passing. Sam smoked his pipe while cooking dinner for them both, just some simple sausages in a pan, while Frodo reclined on a tree branch, staring up at the stars through the leaves. But when he heard a noise, he sat up and looked around, then blinked and smiled down at the other hobbit. "Sam. Wood-elves."

Sam took the pan off the heat, and they rushed over to hide behind a log to avoid being seen. A procession of Elves walked and rode down a path through the trees, most of them in white or grey, some armed with swords and spears. All were signing softly, sadly, seeming almost to glow in the dark.

"They're going to the Harbor beyond the White Towers," Frodo whispered, "To the Grey Havens."

"They're leaving Middle-earth."

"Never to return," Frodo agreed sadly, "The magic has gone out of the world, and the elves are following."

* * *

They cut straight across the country as Frodo said, and were in the process of crossing a corn field when Sam lost sight of the other hobbit. He looked ahead and behind, then all around, growing increasingly nervous when all that met his gaze was the talk green stalks. "Mr. Frodo?" When there was no reply, he grew still more nervous. "Frodo? Frodo!"

Frodo pushed his way through the stalks and looked to Sam, head tilted.

Sam sighed, shoulders drooping. "I thought I'd lost you."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's just something Gandalf said," Sam answered, starting toward him.

"What did he say?"

"'Don't you lose him, Samwise Gamgee,'" he replied, "And I don't mean to."

Frodo smiled. "Sam, we're still in the Shire. What could possibly happen?"

Almost immediately, the two of them were bowled over by two other hobbits – two they knew, and who also knew them. "Frodo!" Pippin said cheerfully, jumping back to his feet, "Merry, it's Frodo Baggins!"

"Hello, Frodo!" Merry said, pushing up off of Sam, only to be shoved aside when Sam scrambled to help Frodo up. They in turn scrambled to pick up the vegetables they had dropped during the collision.

"What's the meaning of this?" Frodo demanded when they shoved some of the produce into his and Sam's arms.

Sam fumbled some of the cabbages but caught them before they fell again. "You've been into Farmer Maggot's crop!" he yelped.

All of them froze when they heard dogs begin to bark and a man yelling angrily. Merry shoved Frodo deeper into the stalks, Pippin following close. Sam stayed frozen for a moment longer before running after the others, cabbages still in hand.

Farmer Maggot's shouts echoed after them. "You get back here! Get out of my field! You'll know the devil if I catch up with you!"

"I don't know why he's so upset!" Merry gasped, "It's only a couple of carrots!"

"And some cabbages!" Pippin added, "And those three bags of potatoes we lifted last week. And then the mushrooms the week before!"

"Yes, Pippin!" Merry replied, rolling his eyes, "My point is, he's clearly over-reacting! Run!"

The foremost hobbits skidded to a stop at a cliff edge on a hill, staring at the rocky fall below them, but then Sam barreled into them, unknowingly, and launched them all over. They tumbled over each other down the slope, landing in a pile at the bottom.

Pippin lifted his head from the ground at the bottom of the hobbit pile, only to come face to face with a pile of dung that his face had landed in. "Oh, that was close!" he gasped.

On the top of the pile, Merry sat up and moaned, "Oh, I think I've broken something." He reached under him – and pulled out a broken carrot.

Sam brushed dirt off Frodo and himself as best he could from second from the bottom of the pile. "Trust a Brandybuck and a Took," he snorted.

"What? That was just a detour – a shortcut."

"A shortcut to _what_?" the hobbit demanded, only to be interrupted by Pippin.

"Mushrooms!" he cried, and all the Hobbits tried to get up at once, pushing Pippin back down in the process.

As Sam, Pippin, and Merry picked over the mushrooms, Frodo looked down around and realized they had tumbled down the hill and onto the main road, which they had been told to avoid. "I think we should get off the road," he called back to the others, but they either didn't hear him or didn't heed him in favor of stuffing the find in a formerly empty sack.

There was an unearthly screech, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, the other hobbits looking up at last. "Get off the road! Quick!" Frodo cried, and this time they scrambled to obey.

They all jumped over the edge of the road and into a small nook hollowed out by water under a tree. Sam, Merry, and Pippin examined their mushrooms and murmured softly amongst themselves. Frodo stayed deathly quiet and still, listening, and hushed the others when hoof beats approached.

Someone dismounted out of sight, landing with a heavy thud, and clanked over to stand above them. One of the Nine sniffed the air, searching for them, but amidst all the other scents of the world, it couldn't get a clear read. It shrieked again, calling for the Ring, and Frodo's eyes rolled back as he felt _something_ worm its way into him, covering his mind with a fog. Without his conscious direction, his hands pulled the Ring from his pocket, and the Black Rider seemed to perk up, sensing its presence. Frodo shuddered and resisted without knowing why, the Ring hovering just beyond his finger - and Sam saw, grabbed his wrist and shoved it down, breaking through the fog.

The Rider stopped, sensing the change, but seemed ready to move forward anyway. But it whirled around when Merry threw a sack to the other side of the tree, giving them the chance to escape. The hobbits fled as fast as they could, but that Rider and more gave chase all throughout the Shire.

Night fell, and at last they had enough of a breather that Merry and Pippin could demand to know what kind of creature that was, what was going on. "That Black Rider was looking for something," Merry said darkly, "Or someone. Frodo?"

Pippin hissed a warning, and they saw a Nazgûl on top of a hill, trotting away but seeming to survey the land from under its deep hood.

"I have to leave the Shire," Frodo whispered, "Sam and I must get to Bree."

"Right," said Merry, nodding firmly, "Buckleberry Ferry. Follow me."

They all ran for the ferry – when another Nazgûl suddenly appeared without sound or warning from behind a thicket of brambles, screeching and charging when it spotted them. The hobbits dodged out of the way, to one side or another of the great black horse, and Sam, Merry, and Pippin ran for the ferry, with Frodo left behind. He tricked the Nazgûl, dodging another charge and snatching hands, and sprinted for the other hobbits and the ferry.

The others shouted encouragement, trying to wait, but Frodo shouted at them to cast off. He could hear the hoof beats of the Rider close behind him even over his gasping breaths and pounding heart. When he reached the end of the dock, he jumped with all his might and made it onto the ferry, his friends grabbing at his clothes to stop him from overbalancing and falling back into the water.

The Nazgûl's horse skidded to a stop just on the edge of the dock, almost falling into the water. The hobbits shuddered in terror on the ferry, even as the Nazgûl wheeled its horse around and headed back towards the road.

"How far to the nearest crossing?" Frodo gasped.

"Brandywine Bridge," Merry answered, already poling them across the river, "Twenty miles."

The Nazgûl's horse turned onto the road towards Bree, two other Nazgûl falling in behind it.


	4. Strident

The hobbits arrived in Bree well after dark. It was raining, though not heavily, but even so, their clothes were soaked and they shivered with the cold. They hovered in the woods beyond the walls for a moment, looking for the Black Riders. But seeing none, they hurried across the road to the gate and hammered on it. After a moment, the gatekeeper opened a porthole. "What do you want?"

"We're heading for the Prancing Pony," Frodo answered.

The gatekeeper closed the porthole and opened the Man-sized door in the gate to hold a lantern high. "Hobbits! Four hobbits!" he exclaimed, "What business brings you to Bree?"

"We wish to stay at the inn," the hobbit answered, "Our business is our own."

"Alright young sir, I meant no offense," the gatekeeper replied, a little startled at Frodo's unwillingness to speak but stepping back to let them in regardless, "It's my job to ask question after nightfall. There's talk of strange folk abroad – can't be too careful."

He shut and locked the door behind them, and the four continued up the road towards the Prancing Pony. There were Men and Women everywhere, seeming fell and strange in the dark and rain, snarling, "Out of the way! Watch where you're walking!" as they passed. At last they spotted the sign of the Prancing Pony and ducked inside and out of the rain.

Frodo approached the bar with the other hobbits at his back. "Excuse me?" he called.

After a moment, the innkeeper, Butterbur, leaned over the edge to peer down at them. "Good evening, little masters! If you're seeking accommodations, we've got some nice, cozy, hobbit-sized rooms available. Always proud to cater to the Little Folk, Mr., uh…?"

"Underhill," Frodo replied after a moment's hesitation, "My name's Underhill."

"Underhill, yes," Butterbur said with a nod, seeming faintly suspicious.

"We're friends of Gandalf the Grey," said Frodo, hoping to distract the Man with thoughts of other things, "Can you tell him we've arrived?"

"Gandalf?" he frowned, "Gandalf? Oh yes! I remember, elderly chap, big gray beard, pointy hat." When Frodo nodded, he continued, "Not seen him for six months."

Frodo turned to look back at the other hobbits. Sam leaned in and asked, "What do we do now?"

There was no point trying to go anywhere that night. Outside of the town's walls, they were like as not to be caught by the Black Riders. They got a shared room at the inn and a meal in the pub, each with their own mug of ale. "Sam. He'll be here. He'll come," Frodo tried to reassure the other hobbit, which was hard because he wasn't much assured himself.

Then Merry returned from the bar, carrying an enormous mug of ale, which he was staring at lovingly.

Pippin stared too. "What's that?"

"This, my friend, is a pint," Merry replied, and took a sip.

"It comes in pints?" Pippin gasped, and when Merry made a noise of agreement, he said, "I'm getting one," and darted towards the bar.

"You've had a whole half already!" Sam called after him, to no avail. He sighed, then turned and murmured to Frodo, "That fellow's done nothin' but stare at you since we arrived." He nodded to a hooded figure smoking a pipe in a corner.

Frodo took a quick glance at him, then stopped the innkeeper as he walked by with food for another table. "Excuse me, that man in the corner, who is he?"

Butterbur looked, then said in an undertone, "He's one of them rangers. Dangerous folk they are, wandering in the Wilds. What his right name is I've never heard, but around here, he's known as Strider."

"Strider…" Frodo repeated, leaning back as the innkeeper moved off. Something about the warmth of the room and scents in the air – smoke, food, unwashed bodies – made him slip into a trance again as he considered the Ranger, his fingers slipping unknowingly into his pockets to pull out the Ring and play with it under the table.

He snapped out of his reverie when he heard Pippin say his name. The other hobbit was at the bar, talking to two suspicious-looking men. "Sure, I know a Baggins. He's over there, Frodo Baggins," he said cheerfully, pointing, "He's my second cousin once removed on his mother's side and my third cousin twice removed on his father's side, if you follow me."

Frodo panicked. Though he hadn't actually told the other two hobbits that he was on the run, he had thought it was fairly obvious he was being pursued and needed to travel under an alias; he knew Pippin had heard him give the name Underhill to the innkeeper! He darted up and ran for the other hobbit, calling his name. "Pippin!"

"Steady on!" the other hobbit cried, but it was too late. Frodo slipped and fell on the wet floor, the Ring flipped from his fingers and into the air. He grabbed for it, but instead of falling into his palm, it slipped onto his finger.

Frodo vanished – or perhaps the world around him did. He had been transported to a washed-out world of fire and darkness, surrounded by deep shadows. They seemed to be the men of the inn, moving and talking, but their voices couldn't be heard over the howling wind.

But there was a voice he _could_ hear – and very much did not want to. "You cannot hide," it growled. Then, without warning, a great Eye appeared before him. "I see you! There is no life in the void – only death!"

Frodo staggered away, yanking the Ring off his finger at the same time. The Prancing Pony reappeared around him, and he had a moment to sigh in relief – but only a moment.

Strider grabbed him by the collar and whirled him around. "You draw far too much attention to yourself Mr. 'Underhill,'" the Man nearly hissed, and hauled him upstairs to the hobbits' room.

"What do you want?" Frodo demanded, but did not expect the answer he got.

"A little more _caution_ from you," the Ranger answered, "That is no trinket you carry."

"I carry nothing," Frodo insisted, his heart resuming its frantic pace.

"Indeed," Strider replied, making it clear he didn't believe him. He moved quickly through the room, putting out the candle flames with his fingers as he spoke. "I can avoid being seen if I wish. But to disappear entirely, that is a rare gift."

He pushed his hood back, and Frodo stared at him, swallowing thickly. "Who are you?"

"Are you frightened?" the Man demanded.

"Yes," the hobbit answered. He was too frightened to lie with any skill.

"Not nearly frightened enough," the Man replied. Before Frodo could respond, he continued, "I know what hunts you."

The door slammed open. Strider whipped around, drawing his sword, but it was only Merry, Pippin, and Sam, armed with nothing more than a candelabra, a three-legged stool and their fists. "Let him go, or I'll have you, Longshanks!" Sam demanded.

"You have a stout heart little hobbit, but that will not save you," said Strider, sheathing his sword, "You can no longer wait for the wizard Frodo. They're coming."

The Ranger hurried them all away from the inn and settled elsewhere in the town, since there was no leaving it now without being found on the road. They would have to leave by morning for sure, but until then, there were other inns in Bree, now that they knew Gandalf wasn't coming.

Neither Frodo nor Strider slept, but the others woke in the night to the screams of the Riders and their horses. Strider watched from the window as the black horses reared and plunged, neighing ceaselessly outside.

"What are they?" Frodo asked softly.

Fresh screams from the Riders reached their ears.

"They were once Men," Strider answered, "Great kings of Men. Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will." He glanced back out the window, watching for a moment as the four mounted their horses and galloped off, still shrieking. "They are the Nazgûl, Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times, they feel the presence of the Ring, drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you."

* * *

With Gandalf gone and an apparent ally in the Ranger, the hobbits followed Strider away from Bree and into the Wild. They were unsure of what lay ahead of them, but they did know what lay behind and were sure that that was far worse than whatever perils the Ranger might be leading them into. Even so, Merry fell in next to Frodo and muttered, "How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf?"

"I think a servant of the enemy would look fairer and feel fouler," Frodo answered back honestly, unsure if the Ranger could hear him.

"He's foul enough," the other hobbit grunted.

Frodo sighed. "We have no choice but to trust him."

Sam, who was leading the Ranger's pony, leaned in and whispered, "But where is he leading us?"

"To Rivendell, Master Gamgee," the Ranger called back, "To the House of Elrond."

That made all of them gasp. "Did you hear that? Rivendell!" Sam nearly cheered, "We're going to see the Elves!"

Though they were nearly breathless with excitement, the road between Bree and Rivendell was long and far from easy, especially for the three gentlehobbits. Sam was more used to hard work, being from a common family, and though Frodo held his peace, Merry and Pippin more than made up for it. They were especially unhappy about not getting their full complement of meals throughout the day, since hobbits ate upwards of seven or eight times a day.

But when they did stop to eat, there was always food. Strider was a skilled hunter and frequently brought back fresh meat, wild berries and vegetables, and herbs, which formed the bulk of their provisions. He was also unusually knowledgeable about Elves; more than once, Frodo heard him humming a tune the Man identified as the Lay of Luthien, an Elf who gave her love to a Man named Beren in the First Age.

Then they reached a ruin Strider identified as the watchtower of Amon Sûl, and things started to go wrong. The Ranger gave them each a short sword, the perfect length for hobbits to wield, and departed to scout ahead. Frodo ate a quick meal of cold meat and cheese and bedded down, falling asleep to the sounds of the other hobbits talking amongst themselves.

He woke to the smell of smoke and the soft crackle of a small fire. He jerked upright and looked around, then demanded, "What are you doing?!"

"Tomatoes, sausages, nice crispy bacon," Merry replied cheerfully, not seeing a problem at all.

"We saved some for you, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, holding out a plate, but he ignored it.

"Put it out, you fools! Put it out!" he cried, stamping the fire out with his bare feet.

It was already too late. A Nazgûl screech echoed through the darkness, and the hobbits ran to the edge of the ledge to see five of the Wraiths nearly gliding toward the ruined watchtower through wispy fog.

Frodo drew his sword and shouted, "Go!"

All four of them raced to the top of the watchtower, where they pressed themselves close at the center of the platform. One by one, the Nazgûl appeared out of the darkness and drew their own swords, slowly approaching the hobbits.

Sam gathered his courage and shouted, "Back you devils!" He lunged forward, trying to stab one of the Wraiths, but his strikes were easily blocked before he was tossed aside. He hit the stone hard and lay stunned in a huddle on the ground. Merry and Pippin moved in front of Frodo, trying to guard him, but they, too, were easily thrown aside. Frodo staggered back, horrified at seeing how easily they were disposed of, sword falling from his grasp, then tripped and fell back.

The Ring whispered in his ears, and he groped for it, pulled it from his pocket. The lead Wraith saw and drew a dagger as it strode towards him. Frodo scrambled away but met a wall with his back. Trapped by the Nazgûl against the fallen pillar, he still tried to press backwards even as the Witch King came closer, reaching for him, blade at the ready.

Frodo slipped on the Ring and found himself once more in the world of mist and shadow. Yet there was light in the world; the Nazgûl looked like the Men they had once been, save aged and withered by time, their faces cold and without pity. The lead Wraith reached for Frodo's hand, where the Ring suddenly felt heavy, drawn towards the Wraith's hand. But Frodo drew it back, and the Wraith recoiled, then stabbed him through the shoulder with his dagger.

Frodo arched and screamed; it felt like he'd been set on fire. The Wraith ignored his cries, withdrawing the dagger and reaching for the Ring again.

But then Strider returned, wielding a bare sword in one hand and a flaming torch in the other, driving the Wraiths back. Whimpering in pain as the fire began to spread, Frodo managed to work the Ring off his finger and returned to the real world. Yet that sent a fresh pulse of agony through him, and he cried out again.

The Nazgûl proved to be more afraid of the torch than the sword, but Strider used both to great effect, driving them all off and setting more than one Ringwraith ablaze in the process. When they were gone at last, Sam called desperately, "Strider! Help him Strider."

The Ranger raced to the hobbits' side and picked up the dagger that the Wraith had dropped. "He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade." The blade turned to dust even as they watched. "This is beyond my skill to heal. He needs Elvish medicine." He scooped the hobbit up and ran down the steps of the watchtower, the other hobbits close behind.

"We're six days from Rivendell!" Sam cried, "He'll never make it!"

But they ran anyway, listening to Frodo's increasingly maddened cries for the wizard who had set them on this journey, all of them hoping beyond hope, praying that they would reach help in time. Even the sight of Bilbo's trolls was not enough to call him back for even a moment. He just gasped and wheezed, and stared unseeing into the darkness, sweat rolling down his face.

"Look , Mr. Frodo," Sam tried, "It's Mr. Bilbo's trolls." He patted the other hobbit's cheek, frowning in alarm. "Mr. Frodo? Strider, he's goin' cold!"

"Is he going to die?" Pippin demanded, eyes wet.

"He's passing into the shadow world," the Ranger answered, "He will soon become a wraith like them."

A Nazgûl cry rolled through the night, not near, but not far enough either. Frodo gasped along with it, as if trying to echo it.

Remembering hearing that Sam had been a gardener, Strider called him over. "Sam, do you know Athelas plant?"

"Athelas?"

"Kingsfoil."

"Kingsfoil?" the hobbit questioned, "Aye, it's a weed!"

"It may help to slow the poison. Hurry!"

They both headed out into the night to search for the plant as best they could by the light of their torches. Strider found it first, a small patch at the base of a tree, and cut it off a section with his knife – only to freeze when cold steel touched his throat.

"What's this?" said a familiar voice, "A Ranger caught off his guard?"

But there was no time for a happy reunion. The Ranger led the Elf back to the other hobbits. Frodo had grown even worse in the short time away and seemed unable to bear looking at Arwen, eyes wide but pupils narrow in some unseen light. Arwen knelt next to him and said, "Frodo… _I am Arwen. I have come to help you. Hear my voice. Come back to the light_."

But the hobbit closed his eyes, turned away. "Frodo! He's fading!" Even as the Ranger pressed the Kingsfoil into the wound, she said, "He's not going to last. We must get him to my father. I've been looking for you for two days."

"Where are you taking him?" Merry demanded, but there was no time to answer.

"There are five wraiths behind you," said Arwen as Strider lifted the hobbit onto her horse, "Where the other four are, I do not know."

" _Stay with the Hobbits. I will send horses again for you._ "

" _I'm the faster rider. I'll take him._ "

" _The Road is too dangerous,_ " Strider insisted.

" _Frodo dies,_ " the Elf replied, " _If I can get across the river, the power of my people will protect him._ I do not fear them.

Strider squeezed her hand, then said, " _According to your will._ "

Arwen smiled tightly, then swung up onto Asfaloth behind Frodo.

"Arwen!" Strider called, "Ride hard. Don't look back!"

Arwen spurred her horse into motion, as fast as she dared, for as long as she dared. Day broke before the Nazgûl caught up, appearing one by one through the trees until all nine trailed in her wake. She wove through the trees, hoping to throw them off or at least further back – and succeeding for a time, but never long enough to draw far enough ahead for comfort. Whenever they drew close, they reached for the hobbit with armored hands, but never drew close enough to grab him.

They tried to hem her in, but to no avail, and at last, they all reached the river. Asfaloth plunged into the water without pause, but the Wraiths stayed back and lingered on the shore, their reluctance clear. "Give up the halfling, She-Elf!" one of them hissed.

Arwen drew her sword and shouted back, "If you want him, come and claim him!"

The Nine drew their own swords and started into the water. Arwen called to the river in Elvish, and it rose to full flood in response, with peaks like horses galloping. The Nazgûl tried to get away, some turning to get back to the bank and others fleeing down the river, but in vain. The flood rushed over them all and washed them away, their screeches fading. Arwen looked after them, making sure they were gone, but then Frodo started to slip off Asfaloth. Arwen lifted him down, crying, "No! Frodo... No! Frodo, don't give in! Not now!"

 _What grace is given me, let it pass to him… Let him be spared… Save him._


End file.
